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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28496280">A Hard Day’s Work</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slizzardlizzard/pseuds/Slizzardlizzard'>Slizzardlizzard</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Locked Tomb Trilogy | Gideon the Ninth Series - Tamsyn Muir</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>A lot less dying and a bit more wholesome than Locked Tomb, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Stardew Valley, Content Warning: Ianthe Tridentarius, Coronabeth is a horsegirl and you can’t change my mind, Danger, F/F, farming</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 17:22:46</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>14,111</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28496280</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slizzardlizzard/pseuds/Slizzardlizzard</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>When Harrowhark orders Gideon to travel across the country and help fix up the Emperor’s hometown farm, she reluctantly agrees. After arriving in Stardew Valley, nothing is as it seems. Is this really about fixing up a dumpy old town? Why are people going missing?</p><p>The Stardew Valley x Locked Tomb AU nobody asked for.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Abigail Pent/Magnus Quinn, Gideon Nav/Coronabeth Tridentarius, Gideon Nav/Dulcinea Septimus, Gideon Nav/Harrowhark Nonagesimus, Harrowhark Nonagesimus/Ianthe Tridentarius</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>27</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is my first fan fiction I’ve posted here. I’d love any feedback and hope you like it :)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Freezing rain wasn’t unusual in Drearburh, in fact, it was the default weather for this awful place. Gideon sloughed along the trail with barely enough outdoor clothing to bear the wet and cold. Her strong, brown hands clutched at her elbows under the sleeves of her dark robe. A knapsack, too lightly packed, but it would have to do, patted against her back as she marched along. Her stolen rusty sword wobbled in the makeshift hilt at her hip.</p><p>This wasn’t the first time she tried to run away. Growing up was hell - and she meant that nearly literally. The royal family’s evil brat of a daughter used her as a plaything. And think <i>Sid</i> not <i>Andy</i> in terms of play style. Gideon was the know-nothing do-nothing farmer kid. Aiglamene took her in as a toddler, but her debts were paid after nearly 8 years of labor. Gideon has been working the farm since she was old enough to hold onto a hoe. (No, not like that, jeez.)</p><p>A shiver wrought through her, causing her to shimmy her shoulders. A crunch came from the left, and before she could draw her sword, a sharp pain in her ankle caused her to grit her teeth. Gideon let loose an expletive. A skeletal hand wrapped around her foot, scrabbling for purchase on her legs, and she nearly toppled over. </p><p>Not again, Harrowhark... </p><p>Spinning so her weight was behind her, Gideon swung her sword at the wretched bony hand, which was far larger than any person’s could have been. It shattered, spraying dust which was turned to slurry before it could be an issue. </p><p>Gideon let out a roar, her greatest enemy’s name, “HARROW!” </p><p>It echoed in the forest. No response came, but a pair of hands were borne from the earth this time, instead of one, and they were much larger. They grappled with the farmer girl’s meaty calves. Gideon swung her sword to no avail, struggling not to strike herself by accident. </p><p>Harrow was uncaring for her wellbeing, as always. Blood pooled out beneath her bony grasp, and Gideon was violently wrenched back from whence she ran. This time, Gideon did fall. She was dragged through the mud, kicking and screaming, cursing and maybe a little crying (though it was hard to tell with how hard it was raining) all the way to the dingy old castle she hated more than anything. </p><p>—</p><p>Gideon arrived in the great hall approximately half an hour later. She was soaked head to toe, and so muddy it would have been hard to tell who she was, except for her rockin bod, that is. Shakily, she rose to her feet, and swiped the mud off her face to look her captor in the eyes. </p><p>Harrowhark rested regally in her throne, gazing down upon Gideon like she was a raccoon who had somehow gotten inside the house. Her lips were pursed in her eternal sneer. Aiglamene, ever boring and loyal, was by her side, grey hair combed smooth as polished rock. </p><p>Clearing her throat, and trying to sound strong and unperturbed, Gideon declared, “I will get out of here. Today. Like it or not, I am leaving. You’ll have to find a new farm hand, but you’ve never had trouble summoning helpers.” She shook the skeletal hands off of her legs, sending them to clatter on the stone floor. </p><p>Aiglamene shook her head and pressed her palm over her forehead, avoiding eye contact. Harrowhark’s sneer only multiplied in its haughtiness, which was a terrible sign. </p><p>Her shrill voice dripped with royal disdain. “Gideon, you’ve always been useless to me, barely earning your keep, and frankly I have half a mind to put you down.” The witch paused for dramatic effect. “Regretfully, I have a need for you, for the first time ever. The emperor is summoning two delegates from every kingdom to restore some old town.” She barked out <i>old town</i> in the same disgusted tone she uttered <i>Gideon.</i> </p><p>“You will accompany me to the Emperor’s long-decayed hometown in Stardew Valley.” </p><p>Gideon’s head throbbed after having to hear Harrow’s voice this long. She stated the obvious, “Why not take Aiglamene?” The young farmhand struggled to keep whining out of her voice, “Why me?”</p><p>Harrow continued, “Apparently our kingdom has been appointed to restore the farm, and I need to leave someone with brains in Drearburh to feed everyone around here. You will come.” </p><p>Gideon stepped forward, approaching the throne. Fury burned in her heart. To go and serve Harrowhark? Alone? To have to act like a well trained dog? She glared at her oppressor. “And if I decide I don’t want to?”</p><p>Letting out a dramatic sigh, the scrawny necromancer mimed sadness, placing her bony pale hands over her cheeks. “Oh no, whatever will I do?” She laughed to herself. Aiglamene shifted uncomfortably. </p><p>Harrow’s voice lowered, almost husky, except for how gross and evil she was. “I’ll give you what you’ve always wanted. I’ll appoint you free knight of Drearburh, give you a horse, some decent weapons and tools, and a week’s rations.” Gracefully she stood and strode to the foot of the throne, bearing a small paper scroll. She approached too closely for Gideon’s comfort, with eye contact that betrayed a weird vulnerability. Harrow always smelled like rock in the rain mixed with death. Her tiny hand pressed the scroll into Gideon’s still-damp grip. They touched for just a moment, Harrow jerking back like she had touched a leper. </p><p>Something in Gideon’s body betrayed her, causing her hands to tremble as she unfurled the paper. Signed in blood, it was what Harrow agreed to. In disbelief, Gideon looked up at Aiglamene, the only person she had ever really trusted. Her gaze was met with a nod, indicating go ahead, dear. </p><p>Harrow climbed back into her obsidian chair, having to heave herself a little, as it was far too large for her. </p><p>This was weird. Harrow never told the truth. Maybe this was a trap, to sell Gideon, in her prime, to another kingdom? A prank, to finally break Gideon’s free spirit?</p><p>Whatever it was, Gideon wanted no part in it. She turned to leave, and tossed the scroll on the ground behind her. Aiglamene’s old-lady disappointment radiated through the air, but the young farmhand blew through the ancient double-doors and precariously slammed them behind her. </p><p>The familiar cool air immediately bit at her nose and eyes. Gideon numbly began to walk back down the trail. There was no real plan, just keep going, get away from here. If she died in the woods alone, it would be better than this. She heard the stony doors creak open and footsteps approached. Aiglamene. Too far apart to be tiny Harrow, and certainly not enough huffing and puffing. </p><p>A gloved hand came down on her shoulder, spinning her in place to face the closest figure to a mother she ever had. The crone’s gaze softened more than its usual glare. </p><p>“You’ve really got to do this, Gideon. This is your only chance.” It was unusual for her to plead instead of order. </p><p>Gideon retorted, scoffing, “You know I can’t trust her. How could I? After everything she’s done to me? How could you trust her too, after what she did to you? I won’t become a beaten mule. She’s just going to kill me or drag me back here.” She pushed her mentor back, swiping off the condescending hand-pat and attempting to resume storming off.</p><p>“She’s desperate, you know.” Aiglamene appealed to her curiosity with her conspiratorial tone. It worked a little bit. </p><p>“What for? She’s royalty. There are tons of other citizens she could pick. Actually, she could just conjure up a hundred skeletons, no need for me at all!” To prove her point, Gideon gestured violently at the awkward bony figure mindlessly watering some cauliflower. </p><p>“Gideon, you’re the only one close to her age. How would it look to the other kingdoms if she showed up empty handed or with some old lady like me? There’s rumored to be certain zones where necromancy doesn’t function, too. She needs a proper guard. You might even meet someone you could care about, maybe make some new little Gideons with a fancy third kingdom princess?” In a disturbing show, Aiglamene waggled her eyebrows suggestively. </p><p>Gideon groaned, but her Aiglamene had a point. This could be the best escape plan yet, and the decree was bloodbound. </p><p>Aiglamene made it seem like she was going to hand her the scroll, but the pulled it back and swatted Gideon in the head with it several times. “Now, go back and apologize, and beg for a chance to honor the Ninth. And stop acting like a kid. You aren’t as cute as you used to be.” Gideon snatched the weapon and headed back to the castle, muttering under her breath, “I am an absolute snack, thank you very much.”</p><p>—</p><p>Harrow was waiting for her, idly summoning and mushing various bone types like a normal girl would examine their nails. Her dreadful painted face contrasted sharply with her dull black eyes cast toward Gideon. </p><p>She waited a few seconds, and then impatiently added, in a mocking tone, “Well, what did you want to say to me?”</p><p>Gritting her teeth and biting back shame, Gideon replied, “I have reconsidered. I will go.” She paused and looked up at Harrow, who apparently wasn’t satisfied. Continuing, she begrudgingly added, “I will serve you in restoring the Emperor’s home town. It would be an honor.” Another pause. Not good enough. Reluctantly, she tacked on, “Please.”</p><p>Harrow curled a whip of bone around her knee, dragging Gideon to kneel. The touch wasn’t painful, but firm. She descended the throne and placed her surprising warm fingers on Gideon’s cheek, guiding her gaze upwards. </p><p>“I accept your apology. We leave tomorrow. Aiglamene will help you pack.” As if that wasn’t degrading enough, she carded her fingers through Gideon’s copper curls, tousling her short pompadour.</p><p>And that was that.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The journey to the first would normally take a little over a week. With Harrowhark, Reverend Daughter, Princess of Death, they planned for three days. 
</p><p>
In classic necromancer fashion, the Ninth Kingdom took skeleton horses for transport. They had the benefit of being swift, replaceable, and devoid of needing any basic care (which was actually the most important part, as Harrowhark was incapable of caring for living things) </p>
<p> Aiglamene has given Gideon a much more suitable pack than her runaway knapsack, stuffed with nasty preserved food and the finest supplies the dilapidated shed behind the silo could offer. The grey old woman had also tucked in a small note, reading the word Gideon had heard so often she could practically hear Aiglamene’s loveless tone, <i>Behave</i>. </p><p>There was no big fanfare with their departure. Gideon had been wanting to leave ever since she was a small child, and Harrow didn’t exactly have any friends other than her aunts, who were all so old they were nearly indistinguishable from each other. Even though the indentured servant had no good will towards Drearburh, she couldn’t help but cast her gaze over the land. Field after field of withering crops, bones tending the land, and a haunted black castle. </p><p>Castle Drearburh’s crumbling facade looked especially dismal today, mourning the loss of the only cool person on earth who ever lived there. Aiglamene waved and turned to get back to work, never one for much sentiment. </p><p>Skeleton steeds were quite similar to regular horses. They used leather saddles and bridles, though the metal bit was often coated in fat to prevent it from breaking the brittle mouth-bones. Gideon didn’t have to ask in order to know what kind of leather the equipment was made of. She preferred pretending to have the  the optimistic ignorance of a Third Kingdom peasant, who might think it was cow’s leather. They actually had cows, real ones. Nonetheless, the saddle was comfortable under Gideon’s strong seat. Harrow had been polite enough to bring differently sized equipment for their opposite statures. </p><p>The Ninth used to have whole herds of living horses to plow the fields, ride into battle, and have gay princess adventures with. At least, that’s what the books for children seemed to indicate. Gideon had never actually met a real horse. Apparently wealthier kingdoms had them, but the greater utility of the frightening mockery of a horse was much more frugal. </p><p>The sun was at its peak, and they were making decent progress. The famous Ninth Kingdom Rain (TM) had not let up. Gideon shifted in her saddle, uncomfortable, cold, and damp. Most roadside companions might have indulged in idle chit-chat, storytelling, or even singing. 

</p><p>Gideon itched to chatter, but every topic fell flat before it reached her mouth. <i>How’s the family?</i> Dead. <i>Some weather we’re having, eh?</i> This is the same weather we always have, you imbecile. <i>Going out with anyone?</i> No, I only love bones. </p><p>Harrowhark had given herself a taller horse to feel superior, so she could glare down at Gideon when needed. Classic height-insecure Harrow. Her tiny body twisted in place too suddenly, like a spooky skinny owl. “<i>Griddle</i>, if you need to use the bathroom, just say so. I need to you to act normal while you’re on this mission.” </p><p>Gideon’s jaw dropped. “Okay, first of all, bringing back that name, wow. Second of all, how long have you been able to see inside me with your powers? Aren’t you creepy enough already?” Gideon dropped the reins and was covering her body with her hands, though that doesn’t really do much. </p><p>“Gideon Nav, I have known you my entire life. I don’t need to <i>see inside you</i> to notice you bouncing around and making that face.” Harrowhark’s tone dripped with condescension. She added on, after groaning like she was stuck on latrine duty, “I cannot believe I’m stuck going on this trip with such a dolt.” </p><p>Relief flooded Gideon. At least she had some privacy left to herself, even if Harrow could read her too well for her own comfort. The ginger farmhand hopped off the skele-steed and waddled into the woods. It waited for her with an eerie stillness that no true living thing could emulate. </p><p>They trotted briskly along the trail until well into the evening, leaving almost no time for making camp. Luckily, having grown up in Drearburh, they were both used to fumbling around in the dark. Harrow threw her tent bones to the ground, and two small covered areas sprung to form. Bone made up the structural element, and a horrifying filmy substance webbed them together, waterproofing the area. </p><p>Gideon attempted to start a fire, but the constant wet had dampened the logs. Any hope of warmth and dry evaporated. Harrow glared at her but mercifully didn’t press the matter. They ate cold canned beans in silence. Gideon looked up at Harrow. Harrow’s pointy face had most of the paint smudged away. She was almost pretty, if not for her personality. Harrow looked up at her and their eyes met briefly before Gideon looked back down again at her dinner. </p><p>Crawling into their tents, the two women shivered their way to a fitful sleep. Gideon dreamed of monsters attacking their farm in the Valley. Wave after wave of ghosts, bats, and demons ripped the siding off. Inside their cabin, she was alone, and scared. She was calling out for Harrowhark, Aiglamene, anyone. When she woke up, Harrow was already suited up for the day. Her face paint was reapplied fiercely. Impatiently, she said, “Glad you’re done having weird dreams about me and Aiglamene. You know you sleep talk, right?” </p><p>Gideon groaned and insisted, “It wasn’t like that!” But there was no way to change Harrow’s mind. </p><p>—</p><p>The next few days went faster. In part, this was due to the Reverend Daughter forcing them to ride at breakneck speed.  Apparently, camping did not suit her. While the skeletal beasts had equipment like they could be controlled, ultimately Gideon had no way to slow down, turn, or manipulate the thing. The weather after day one was finally sunny. Heat transformed miserable dampness into a sweltering new punishment. Harrow’s graceful black-and-white face paint has melted into a reddish blur, concentration and necromantic bloodsweat pushing them along rapidly. </p><p>After two days of unbearable effort, terse conversations (orders), and mean looks, the odd pair set eyes upon the famed Stardew Valley. Glistening lakes and rivers fed into the sparkling ocean. It opposed the frosty Ninth Kingdom in every way. Their skelebeasts slowed now, carefully picking their way downhill. Eventually the dusty trail turned to cobbles, and then the horses collapsed apart. Necromancy cut out. Harrow had been in the lead the whole time, being the royal highness, so she collapsed face first, feebly attempting to catch herself with bones and failing. Gideon, having no control whatsoever, was doomed to the same fate, and tumbled, saddle included, onto her liege. The massive mystery-leather saddle had landed over Harrow’s legs, trapping her very effectively since her necromancy had cut out. Gideon was sprawled over her, her muscular arms bent at the elbow in the dirt. Their faces were close, and Harrow’s eyes flickered over Gideon’s warm amber ones before looking away. Friends might have burst into laughter after such a clusterfuck, but not these two. The farmhand scrambled to disentangle herself from the tiny mean bone witch, with middling success.</p><p>Harrow wriggled like a snake, spitting mad, her furious dark eyes returning Gideon’s golden ones. “GRIDDLE, get away from me, you..., you,” she struggled to come up with an adequate insult while catching her breath, “sweaty oaf!” </p><p>Honest to God, Gideon was trying. Harrow’s scrawny fingers poked and scratched her face while she struggled to her feet. Dusting herself off, Gideon decided to let Harrow figure out how to push the saddle off on her own. </p><p>After several moments of shimmying, looking like a cat trying to take off a silly hat its owner had tied to its head, The Reverend Daughter was free. Gideon picked up up both the saddles and other equipment. </p><p>They took several moments to repaint makeup, and make their way into the town square. Harrowhark was practically vibrating with nervous energy, while Gideon spent time admiring the foliage she missed on their high-speed adventure in. </p><p>Harrow was the next one to speak. Fresh paint always helped her speak more rudely. “Gideon, this is a very important diplomatic mission. We don’t have to <i>do</i> anything. We have to <i>look</i> correct. I can’t trust you to talk, so you need to promise me to just keep to yourself, and do the tasks required to win. We cannot believe anything the other kingdoms say. I have reason to believe this is a challenge, and a potentially deadly one.” </p><p>Fingers still fixing her shockingly red hair, Gideon turned to Harrow. The Reverend Daughter looked serious and urgent. “You got it, my Lugubrious Lord.” </p><p>“I’m serious, Gideon! You need to be serious! This isn’t just a game!” Harrow’s sticklike arms waved to convey her point of serious-ness. </p><p>“Whatever you say, Lady Boner.” Gideon laughed a hearty chuckle, grabbing around Harrow’s narrow shoulders and bringing her into an unwelcome side-hug. </p><p>They weren’t the first to arrive. </p><p>— </p><p>Gideon remembers the first time she and Harrow fought. Really fought, that is, for blood. They grew up friends, as the only children around the castle ought to. The necromantic child would conjure up monstrosities of bone, and Gideon would beat them to death with whatever scrap metal was sitting around the barn. Screams of delight and mock horror echoed the halls as they chased one another. </p><p>That day, Harrow’s mother had been making some kind of theorem, nose in book, delicately arranging lines on paper to delineate her plan. The children crashed into her study room, and Gideon ran headfirst into the Reverend Mother. Harrow’s bone-monster collapsed to dust, and the two held each other in fearful awaitment of punishment. </p><p>Instead of whipping or yelling or any corporal punishment, the royal mother issued a command to Harrow, whispering so her scared playmate couldn’t hear. Gideon made out the words <i>please</i> and <i>no</i> on the young girl’s lips during their short talk, but nothing else. Harrow’s face hardened and she glared at Gideon. </p><p>“Gideon Nav, for your crimes, I sentence you to an evening in the dungeon. Do not trespass again.” Harrow’s voice faked authority, wobbling at the end. Her mother nodded approvingly. </p><p>The dungeon was horrible and cold, every child’s nightmare. Gideon shook her head and backed away, planning to make a run for it. </p><p>Shrieking in fear as coils of sharp bone wrapped around her body, Gideon barely ripped herself free. A moment passed as their eyes locked. Betrayal steeped into rage, and Gideon stormed over to Harrow. Fat tears streaming down her face, the tan youngster pressed her index finger into Harrow’s chest. Her angry golden eyes met Harrow’s mournful ones. </p><p>The necromancer cried too, but silently, and summoned more cruel bonds. </p><p>Gideon resisted with all of her might, cracking the novice’s weaker bonework. Harrowhark had been holding back, and flung her into the stone wall, hard. Harder than she meant to. Blood leaked from Gideon’s temple. Gideon slumped to the floor pitifully, and lost consciousness. When she came to, she was in the dungeon. They were never fought for fun again. </p><p>—</p><p>Most of the kingdoms’ delegates arrived earlier than expected. When the black-robed Ninth arrived, a myriad of colorfully cloaked delegates sat in a wide circle of ancient chairs. They sat in the center of the remnants of a town square. A jolly older gentleman sat at a wobbly table, serving green tea and bread. He stood and waved them over.</p><p>The grey-haired man that had crinkly blue eyes reached out for a handshake. He grasped Harrow’s limp noodle arm and shook it energetically. Gideon looked around and the various dignitaries from distant lands. Before she could stare too long, a slightly older man and woman approached. </p><p>The man said, “Hi there, Ninth! I’m Magnus, and this is Abigail, my wife.” </p><p>Gideon looked between the two easygoing adults, and replied, “I’m Gideon Nav. Lady Harrowhark and I are responsible for the farm, I think.”</p><p>The two nodded earnestly, as if that meant something to them. Abigail responded, “Wonderful! We will definitely need some fresh food around here. I’m in charge of general infrastructure and the carpenter group.” She turned to gesture at two slouching teens who watched them, and added, “That’s Jeannemary and Isaac, they’ll be helping us, since we got one of the most labor intensive jobs. They’re from the Fourth Kingdom, we’re from the Fifth.” </p><p>Gideon nodded amicably, it seemed plausible. A shadow approached and grasped her too firmly by the wrist. It declared, “My name is Harrowhark Nonagesimis. You will not speak to my guard without permission.” Gideon performed a small wave goodbye, and was dragged over to their chairs. Although Harrow was not stronger, it did hurt a bit, so her companion followed along. </p><p>Apparently only one more kingdom was set to arrive, the Third. Gideon eyed the other groups. Notably, the Second Kingdom delegation was a pair of sharply dressed gorgeous women who looked like they could tear her throat out and she’d smile the whole time. The Sixth Kingdom was dressed in plain gray robes with an entire bag for <i>books</i>. The Seventh was a grotesque man with absurd musculature and a delicate, beautiful woman with dusky brown curls. Her cornflower dress and pale visage reminded Gideon of those comics about maidens in danger and brave, handsome farmhands rescuing them. Finally, the Eighth glared in their direction, a mayonnaise colored pair of men, one giant, and one regular sized. Most of them made polite conversation, but The Ninth did not join in. </p><p>The Third Kingdom arrived with great fanfare. They were the only group to arrive with real living horses. Decked out in purple and azure, the cream colored beasts were tied to a post and relieved of their gear by the man in the group. The two women who approached could not be more different. One had magnificent plumes of golden hair, a somewhat magical busom, and fitness that suggested she would be excellent at sports. The other was a pale shadow of her, with sickly butter-pat colored hair and skin that had scarcely seen the sun. The older man at the table greeted them loudly, “Ah, you must be Coronabeth and Ianthe of the Third. And that is Naberius. I am so glad to have more able hands around to help!” </p><p>Harrowhark grimaced, though likely nobody else could tell, since she was wearing a faceful of paint. If she correctly identified that this was a challenge, having one extra person could make a huge difference. </p><p>The man joyously ushered them to their seats, shoving tea into their hands. He proclaimed, “I am the Mayor, representative of the Emperor of the Nine Kingdoms. I am here to help you all on your journey restoring this beautiful town.” While he was talking, some of the siding fell off the office behind him. </p><p>He continued, “Assignments will be given out by me, but if you’re in need of a special item, feel free to request it on the exchange board. Those will count for points as well. Food will be served in the town square, twice daily, until the tavern has made basic repairs.” He pointed to the simple wooden cork board on the wall. “Please come up when called for your first assignments.”</p><p>A few murmurs broke out amongst the pairs and trio of, apparently, competitors. Points definitely implies winning. </p><p>Abigail’s hand shot up. Leave it to the fifth to act like overeager students. The Mayor turned to look at her, and indicated she could speak. </p><p>“Sir Mayor, the letter summoning us indicated a prize. Are we to know what the prize is? Or how many points are required to win it?” Abigail asked politely. </p><p>The Mayor’s grin grew impossibly wider, nearly demented, “Good question! You could say points are <i>correlated</i> with winning. The prize comes from the Emperor himself, and it is of extraordinary value. However, it is secret.” He winked. It was ghastly. </p><p>This was an annoying answer, but Abigail nodded and thanked him nonetheless. </p><p>The Mayor began to call each kingdom up to his ramshackle table. </p><p>“Second Kingdom: Restoring the Tavern.” The woman in the crisp white blazer, the one with the sword, claimed her scroll. </p><p>“Third Kingdom: Restoring the Blacksmith Shop.” The Third Kingdom Guard, who just finished taking the saddles off their horses, jogged over, bowed, and took his scroll. </p><p>“Fourth Kingdom and Fifth Kingdom: Repairing Infrastructure and Restoring Carpentry. “ </p><p>Even more murmuring broke out. Clearly, the concept of a <i>team of four</i> was not popular either. </p><p>“Sixth Kingdom: Restoring the Barn.” </p><p>“Seventh Kingdom: Creating Art”</p><p>“Eighth Kingdom: Restoring the Fishery”</p><p>And at last, all eyes to the Ninth. “Ninth Kingdom: Restoring the Farm.” </p><p>Gideon was happy to have had the others to set the example. She rose, bowed, and collected her first assignment. When she slumped back into her seat, it creaked dangerously. </p><p>Harrowhark snatched the piece of paper and unrolled it. There was a small map, showing where the old farmhouse was. Dotted lines indicated “no-necromancy” zones. A separate leaf, tied up with the map, outlined some simple goals. <i>Grow a Parsnip. (5) Pluck 30 weeds from yard. (10) Cut two Oak trees. (5) Fix Window. (15)</i> </p><p>Harrow rocketed off in the direction of their new home. Others had begun talking and comparing notes, but the Third and Second were slipping away as well. Gideon tottered after her liege, still a bit sore from the earlier fall. </p><p>—</p><p>Holy <i>Fuck</i> this place is a disaster. Weeds taller than the Reverend Daughter covered nearly every inch of the expansive property. Gripping the scythe and swinging for all her worth, Gideon swiped down the plants to a passable height. Harrow was strangely quiet, staring at the map like it was a secret puzzle. </p><p>When they finally reached the door, a rat skittered out. The inside was ascetic to the extreme. One tiny table with two stools, a (saw this one coming) broken window, and two beds pushed together. Gideon set the useless saddles onto the ground and flopped onto the bed closer to the door. The necromancer sat at the table, leaning into the map. </p><p>“So, what now?” Gideon broke the silence. </p><p>“Gideon, just go outside and pull weeds. I don’t care what you do. And do <i>not</i> talk to people again,” Harrow added the last bit hastily. </p><p>“Oookay, does that mean I don’t have to talk to you either?” </p><p>“You still have to talk to me, Griddle. Nice try.” Gideon grabbed her scythe and got to work outside, with half a mind to go murder-stabby on Harrow instead.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you for reading. Let me know what you think! I will try to have a chapter each week :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Gideon goes on some adventures and farms. Dulcinea is saved by Gideon. News about traditional Stardew Valley Festival come up and new alliances are made.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Gideon doffed her black cloak in favor of a loose sleeveless shirt that said <i>Sun’s out Nuns out</i> with crude imagery of nuns.</p><p>Harrow had strictly disallowed wearing it. </p><p>“Gideon, no. Just no. Where did you even find that?!” Her voice rose to an offended high-pitched protest. </p><p>“<i>Lady</i> Nonagesimus, you have dragged me here, to a town filled with gorgeous, wealthy babes. You have told me to speak to nobody and work in the sun all day. I’m wearing it. Also, I made it myself, thanks!”</p><p>Harrow thought for a moment. “Would it help if I appeal to your sense of honor?”</p><p>“Nope.” She popped the “p”. </p><p>Mournfully, the necromancer conceded defeat. “Emperor have mercy on my soul. I hate being in a place where I can’t strangle you.”</p><p>Gideon made a rude gesture and stepped outside, victorious. She slapped on a pair of sunglasses as well, to complete the look. </p><p>For someone who seemed to think points and winning mattered, Harrowhark did absolutely nothing to help out around the farm that day. Gideon toiled in the sun, hacking away at weeds and grass. Her arms burned and hands split. Mosquitoes nipped at her flesh, leaving welts in their places. </p><p>The farmhand created a dumping pile adjacent to the house, where the long stalks of grasses were chucked. She yearned for simple tools like a wheelbarrow. They had to travel fairly light and Drearburh had little to spare. </p><p>After a few hours of backbreaking labor, a small patch of dirt about two bodies long and one body wide had emerged. Gideon has definitely removed thirty weeds, but planting required more than she’d brought: seeds. Fixing the window required glass, so cutting the oak trees seemed like the only viable option. Unfortunately, Gideon had no idea what an Oak tree was. Drearburh had trees, but nobody had spent time naming them. Harrow would know, but she’d be a real bitch about it. </p><p>Gideon stepped back into the sweltering hut for her axe. Harrow was still looking at the map by the broken window. The sun shone on her cropped black hair, shining slightly with sweat. At this moment, she was holding it up to the light. She was such a weirdo. </p><p>“Uh, Harrow, any idea where I can get seeds? And stuff for the window?” </p><p>Harrow placed the map back on the table and glared at her interruptor. </p><p>“Just figure it out. Ask the mayor. You are hereby allowed to ask him for supplies.” </p><p>Dryly, Gideon responded, “Oh thank you, my liege!” She grabbed the mighty rusted green-and-blue copper axe out of her bag, and headed back to town square. She hoped someone would point out what an oak tree was so she could chop it. </p><p>—</p><p>The way to town square was an easy ten minute walk along a tattered cobblestone path. On her left, she saw a broken-down train station. It looked like it must have been lovely back in its prime - and extremely advanced in terms of technology for its time. Trains like that were normally reserved for major cities with lots of trade. A small shiny stand to insert money was at the head. Rows of benches with the paint peeling off surrounded a small open area. The tracks lead into a tunnel and ravine, but the train was nowhere to be seen. </p><p>Gideon wondered where it used to travel. </p><p>The Mayor was setting up shop in the nearby destroyed building in the town square. Gideon froze in her spot - a pair of competitors were already talking to him. She recognized them immediately as the delegates from the Sixth Kingdom. </p><p> Gideon was used to hiding and eavesdropping. The burly farmhand waited with a silence quieter than seemed natural for how she appeared. </p><p>The woman from the group was trying the same thing Gideon was about to attempt.</p><p>“Respectfully, Mayor, we aren’t craftsmen! I have no idea how to fix the door to the barn. And even if I did, I don’t have any tools.” </p><p>“Have you examined the components? Did you try to intuit the way it works?”</p><p>She seemed flummoxed by that response. “Yes, there’s a wheel, a rail, metal attachments, and a massive wooden door. We need a new...” she shrugged her shoulders and her voice grew tentative, “all of those?” </p><p>He smiled, replying, “Perfect! Well, if you collect 10 points, I can give you those supplies.” </p><p>This time the man responded. “Sir Mayor-, “ (the mayor interrupted, saying, “no please, just call me Mayor!), and he corrected himself, “Right, Mayor, then. My apologies. I will set out to get those... points... straightaway. What about tools for something like that?”</p><p>The mayor toyed with his medium-length grey beard. “Ah yes, those you’ll have to barter with the other teams. I can order some, but they won’t arrive for a bit. Good luck!” He waved them off and they thanked him before turning away, whispering between themselves. </p><p>Before they got more than a few steps away, partially just to spite Harrow, Gideon walked over to the mayor. Axe pitched over her shoulders, Gideon was the image of brawny. She looked like Hercules if he’d spent too long going through an emo phase and never emotionally matured beyond 12. Her rough-spun nun shirt said it all. </p><p>As the tan, athletic farmhand approached,   the trio seemed appalled, but polite enough to try to hide it. The woman raised her hand out for a shake, and Gideon shook firmly with her free hand. </p><p>“I’m Camilla. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Gideon.” </p><p>The man joined in, saying, “My name is Palamedes. I believe we will be working together quite often, given circumstances.” His spectacles were smudgy and needed to be cleaned. </p><p>Gideon smiled toothily, and introduced herself, “Pleasure is all mine. How do you suppose we are working together?</p><p>Palamedes quirked his eyebrow. He responded slowly, like she needed extra patience. “You’re the farmer. We are restoring the ranch, so we need hay. You have a farm, you need fertilizer. It’s a natural matchup.” </p><p>The young farmhand scratched the back of her head and tried to seem cool and aloof. “Yeah, of course. I knew that.” They seemed too judgmental to ask about what an Oak tree was. </p><p>The two from the Sixth kingdom departed not long after. Gideon looked to the mayor. </p><p>“So, I cut down weeds. That’s 10 points. How many seeds does that get me?” </p><p>The mayor pulled up a large piece of paper, scanning it for something. He ran his finger line by line, and stopped with a brief “aha!”</p><p>“Ninth, that will be enough for sixty parsnip seeds. I have some in stock already. Here you are!” He handed her a small brown bag that made seedy sounds when shaken. </p><p>Gideon thanked him and hustled off as fast as she could. Something about the mayor creeped her out, but she couldn’t quite place it. </p><p>—</p><p>Gideon found a small pond near her clear and filled land. She took a mental note to set up an irrigation system at some point. After several hours of planting seeds and watering them with a small metal cup, and wandering back and forth between the plot of land and the pond, Gideon was ready for food. She re-entered the tiny wooden shack and found Harrowhark had lit a candle. The woman had written pages of notes and diagrams. Her entire hand was smudged black from ink smears. </p><p>Gideon asked, “Hey, want to come for dinner? Otherwise I can try to bring something back for you.”</p><p>Harrowhark replied quickly, saying, “I’m not hungry. Just stop talking to me.”</p><p>Gideon inched closer and looked down at Harrow’s work. The necromancer maniacally scraped her paper to the side in a protective movement, scowling at the larger woman. </p><p>Gideon sighed, saying, “You are going to have a hard time keeping secrets in this little hut, Harrow.” </p><p>Harrowhark looked up at her, releasing her death-grip on the papers. She retorted, “I suppose there’s no use in hiding the paper from you. You’re barely literate. Really though, the less you’re around, the better. I don’t have much time. The others are probably ahead of me.”</p><p>She added, “If you did want to bring back a bit of dinner, it wouldn’t be all bad.” </p><p>Gideon said, “Okay.” </p><p>As she was about to leave, Harrow stopped her, saying, “I wasn’t kidding when I said it was dangerous. You should take the axe. Especially at night.” </p><p>Looking back at her oldest enemy, Gideon asked, “And what about you? You are <i>beyond</i> defenseless without necromancy. Who’s going to protect you from this mystery danger?” She did air quotes around “mystery danger”. </p><p>Harrow’s unsmiling face grew even more serious. “I’ll have to make due. Please leave.”</p><p>Gideon did leave, and she did take the axe. </p><p>—</p><p>As Gideon passed the decrepit train station on her way to dinner, she heard a maidenly cry coming from the ravine. </p><p>Never one to refuse a lady in need, the farmhand paced over to the tracks. She called out, “Anybody there?” </p><p>Just around the corner was the woman from the Seventh Kingdom. She was on her back, propped up against the cliff wall. Fresh and old blood was strewn down the front of her frock. A slimy gelatinous blob was at her feet, with two angry pips that could be eyes. It moved unnaturally. The slime jumped without any legs, and the Seventh woman was kicking it back fiercely with her twiggy legs. </p><p>Gideon ran and slammed her axe into the green creature. It popped disgustingly, and seeped vile liquid. </p><p>The heroic farmhand reached out a hand. She said, “My name’s Gideon. Are you okay?” </p><p>Shakily, the other woman reached up and took her hand. In a tired voice, she replied, “I’m Dulcinea Septimus. Don’t worry about the blood, that was already there.”</p><p>Gideon took the frail woman into her left arm, supporting her around her narrow shoulders. She was almost smaller than Harrowhark, but definitely much older. </p><p>The farmhand had a lot of questions. She started with the foremost in her mind. </p><p>“What happened?” </p><p>Dulcinea swooned, pushing her head into Gideon’s chest and draping an arm over her hips. The farmhand’s raggedy shirt was little defense against the soft touch. She felt heat blossom in her face in spite of the evening’s cooling temperatures.</p><p>Cornflower blue eyes looked up into Gideon’s sunglass-covered gaze. “I’m not well, Gideon. I was going for a walk, and exploring around a bit. I coughed a bit of blood, it’s gross, I’m sorry about that... I was caught with how beautiful these old tracks were. But that green thing tripped me. I’m - ,“ Dulcinea paused for a violent coughing fit. </p><p>Continuing, she said, “I’m not sure why, but I think there’s something it was defending. I don’t know what. Will you be a dear and escort me to dinner? My knight can take me home afterwards. He is probably worried sick.”</p><p>One of the bushes rustled nearby, but the source was unclear. </p><p>Gideon’s arm instinctively tightened around her companion and they began to carefully make their way towards the dining area. </p><p>As they walked, Dulcinea asked coyly, “So, what were you doing wandering all alone? Your necromancer seemed like she wanted to keep you on a tight leash.” Her teasing smile shone in the dimming sunset light. </p><p>Gideon was caught off-guard. For someone absentminded enough to wander off like she had, the sickly woman was very observant. </p><p>“Uhh, she was busy. It’s okay though, she’s no fun. I’m glad I was there to make sure you’re okay.” This was unfamiliar territory for the farmhand. A nervous stitch rippled her words which she tried to deliver smoothly. </p><p>Dulcinea laughed, her voice sounding like little bells. Her thin, treacherous hand ran down Gideon’s arm. She added in a lower voice, “I think I like you, Gideon the Ninth.” </p><p>By the time they reached the town square, most of the other houses were there. The farmhand’s coquettish companion went to sit adjacent to her meaty guard. Gideon was left alone, feeling like a lonesome teen on their first day at a new school. </p><p>Decrepit wooden tables had been assembled with the chairs pushed up. A longer table had a tawdry display of awful preserved food on ancient ornate platters. Hard bread and powdered milk, with jerky and canned oranges. </p><p>While gathering her plate, axe in hand, the tanned woman noticed several people missing. The Sixth was nowhere to be seen, as well as the scrawnier of the necromancer from the Third and the soldiers from the Second. </p><p>Magnus waved at the awkward Ninth farmer, signaling her over. Gideon walked over and pulled a chair up to their table. Six people were seated there - the two adults from the Fifth Kingdom, the teens from the Fourth, and the remaining pair from the Third.</p><p>The lion-maned gorgeous woman from the third introduced herself as <i>Coronabeth</i> and her guard as <i>Babs</i>, though that didn’t see to be his given name. </p><p>The others seemed completely comfortable. More and more, Gideon believed Harrowhark’s concern for danger was unwarranted. </p><p>The Mayor dropped by their table, and passed out tiny Calendars. He explained, “This has all the traditional events that the emperor wants us to reenact. Apparently, this old town had a lot of festivals! The first one coming up is the Egg Festival and the Flower Dance. We will skip the Egg Festival, since the ranch has no chickens yet.”

The Mayor couldn’t hold back his joy as he added more information about the dance.

“The Emperor specifically requested everyone have a date for the evening. Everyone who attends with a date gets five points, and if you attend with a member of another house, you get five additional points. I hope you’re all making friends!” He giggles unnaturally and walked away. </p><p>Abigail and Magnus exchanged an unparseable but meaningful look. Abigail spoke on their behalf, saying, “Magnus and I will attend together. We’re too much of a team to break.” </p><p><i>Babs</i> looked at Coronabeth, but she spoke first. </p><p>“Oh, Naberius, we must split up. There’s no way Ianthe will find a date, and we need all the points we can get for our project. Don’t be too down.” She patted him on the head in a demeaning fashion Gideon was a bit too familiar with. </p><p>He muttered indignantly, replying, “That’s what I was going to say too! Don’t make me sound desperate. It’s unbecoming.” Coronabeth was unbothered by his lack of respect. </p><p>She batted her lush eyelashes across the table at Gideon and fluffed her golden hair. </p><p>“So Gideon, I already have a hunch, but I’d hate to assume. What’s your type? More of a me, or more of a Babs?” All the heads at the table swiveled towards the uncomfortable farmhand. She had been ignored and unloved for far too long to suddenly get so much attention all in one evening. </p><p>Gideon stammered a bit, but replied, “Uh... d-definitely more of the you. Sorry Naberius, you’ll have to ask around.” Her sunglasses and face paint remnants barely hid her reddening face. </p><p>Coronabeth let out a cheer, and smiled warmly. “Good to know, I guess it’s a date then! I hope you don’t mind, but I always lead. We should practice before.” She winked. </p><p>The conversation drifted to more casual topics, such as how infrastructure was being repaired, and what the blacksmith was for. It was boring, but nice. </p><p>—</p><p>They stayed out chatting until well after darkness settled. Gideon marched back to her new residence for her first night in a real bed since she left Drearburh. The walk was uneventful, but when she arrived back at the hut, Harrowhark was nowhere to be seen. </p><p><i>Probably for the best, I won’t have to worry about being stabbed in the throat for making friends.</i> </p><p>Gideon settled under the blankets and dreamed of dancing, music, and new friends. For the first time in forever, she finally felt hope for a future away from the cold clutches of Harrowhark and the Ninth.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you for reading so far. This is fun! Every time I get a kudos, it seriously makes my day. :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Gideon learns more about the competition.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>There’s a bit more exposition in this chapter, and no Harrowhark. Hang in there please!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Gideon woke early, the charming sounds of birds in the morning an unfamiliar delight. Tentatively, she turned to look at the other bed. It was empty, but not untouched. Harrowhark - or possibly some bloodied animal - had been there and left before Gideon had noticed. Smears of facepaint and dried blood were on the pillowcase. The paltry dinner she had gathered for Harrowhark was picked at lightly.</p><p>Worrying about Harrowhark was useless. There was evidence she was injured, but Gideon expelled any concerns about the woman by remembering the last... thousand or so times they’d talked. </p><p>The farmhand found a note on the modest table. It read:</p><p>
  <i>Griddle. I know you’ve been ignoring my request to avoid social contact with the others. You are being purposefully disobedient, and it is EXCEEDINGLY DANGEROUS. But, I should have expected this from you. If you have any desire to survive this whole endeavor, being a knight, etc, at least stay away from Dulcinea Septimus. She is not what you think she is. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>PS: I appreciate the dinner. </i>
</p><p>Gideon chuckled as she read it. The farmhand imagined Harrow’s haughty, angry, jealous face when she saw Gideon was going to the flower dance with someone else. </p><p>Stardew Valley in the spring was home to chilly daybreak. Gideon slipped her dark robe over a plain black sleeveless top. She snapped up her sunglasses and put them on. As she stepped into the tiny garden, she slid the glasses down her nose in shock. Her jaw went slack. The plants had <i>already sprouted</i>. Even in the most prime conditions of all the Ninth Kingdom, there was no way parsnips could grow so fast. </p><p>The tanned farmhand looked up at the blue vibrant sky. She wondered if this was what everywhere would grow like in a land without necromancy. </p><p>Brats in the Ninth were taught quickly to not drift to imagination for too long, especially if they didn’t want to get beaten. Gideon snatched up the metal cup and began to water them.</p><p>As she was gathering the last bit of water for the <i>sprouts</i>(!), the farmhand heard a rustle from the dense weeds and brush. Gideon crouched and scanned the foliage with her intense yellow eyes. She waited, holding her breath. </p><p>The rustle moved closer. </p><p>Gideon stepped back two paces and raised her small metal cup, as if that would really do much, but it was worth a shot, she guessed. </p><p>Suddenly, she saw it. A fluffy orange tabby cat, its hair so matted it looked like a big red rat. Its piercing green eyes met Gideon’s.</p><p>They both crouched and stared for a few beats. An idea sprung to Gideon’s mind. As the farmhand broke her crouch, the cat scampered away. She went back to the cabin and grabbed the leftover jerky and powdered milk. </p><p>Gideon picked up a small metal tray Aiglamene had insisted they pack and set it outside the front of the cabin. She carefully stirred some water into the powdered milk. The cat didn’t come right away, but that’s just how cats are. </p><p>
  <i>I’m going to call him Ortus.<i> Gideon chortled to herself for a bit too long and prepared to head into town for further exploration. </i></i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>—</i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>The young farmhand had only seen the map for a few seconds before it was snatched away. She remembered a few things: there was a beach, and there were three other lonesome cabins, one to the north and two to the south. The sun was just beginning to break through light clouds. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>
      <i>Could be a good day for a beach!</i>
    </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>The Ninth had no beaches. Not proper ones, that is. Any water formations were frozen and miserable. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>Gideon passed through the empty town square, her steps picking up speed as she grew increasingly excited. An outside observer might have found it cute. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>A small wooden bridge led to a wide sandy area. The smell of salt, but not the smell of preservation salts, filled the air. The waves made a soft roaring sound as they undulated back and forth on the shoreline. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>For the second time that day, Gideon was blown away by Stardew Valley’s splendor. Her pulse quickened and she dizzied slightly. She had never imagined anything could look like this. It was just so... blue. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>She wasn’t left to wonder much longer. The unappealing pair of men from the Eighth Kingdom marched up. They stood as upright as they could. The scrawny one stopped first, and the massive mayonnaise guard took about two paces further before stopping. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>He spoke loudly and clearly. “Gideon the Ninth, you and your <i>kind</i> are not to enter our property. Please respect our beliefs and do not return.” The pallid man nodded expectantly from behind his meat-shield. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>The farmhand grimaced, suffering from the emotional whiplash of seeing a beach for the first time and immediately being banned. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>Gruffly, she responded, “Sure. See you around.” She didn’t look back, but swore for an eventual revenge. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>—</i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>A tiny bit heartbroken, Gideon returned to the town. On a whim, or maybe just to annoy Harrowhark, she decided to check in on Dulcinea. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>The air was warming up into another hot day. Gideon used her tan forearm to wipe a bead of sweat away. She passed by a couple broken-down houses and then the cobbled road faded into dirt. The farmhouse where the Sixth were stationed was at the base of the road. A few chickens and cows stood out front, grazing. Beyond it, a wild field, dotted with various foliage, was split by a small river flowing from a lake into the ocean. Dulcinea’s cottage sat right in front of the river. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>A familiar voice called out, but not for help this time. “Gideon! What a sight for sore eyes.”</i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>Dulcinea was in a floral blue and white dress, laying back on a lounge chair and sunning herself. She tried to sit up and began to hack a horrible cough. Gideon shuffled awkwardly waiting for her to finish. Dulcinea’s guard walked over and whacked her on the back, much harder than Gideon thought was polite. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>An unspeakably horrible glob flew out and the woman wiped her mouth. Her guard stood oddly still for a moment, and then walked back to the large hunk of tree he was carving. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>Gideon shuffled over and sat on a stool across from the sickly woman’s lounger. She looked around and over her shoulders. No gremlins dressed in black seemed to be hiding in the bushes, so she cleared her throat and asked softly, “Dulcinea, what’s an oak tree? I’m supposed to chop one.” </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>The maiden laughed and laughed, and then coughed and coughed, and finally said, “It’s one of the big trees with acorns. You know, the little nuts with hats? Is that what the Mayor’s put on your list?”</i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>Gideon flushed with embarrassment but chuckled along good-naturedly with Dulcinea. She responded, “Yeah, I assume it’s part of clearing more land on my farm. Though I might want to use the wood build something. I’m not totally sure.” </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“That’s not a bad idea. I bet you’d love to have a bit more space to store things. You’ll be scrambling for storage after the first few harvests.” </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>Gideon nodded. Dulcinea smirked coyly and asked, “Where’s your necromancer? Is she abandoning you again?”</i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“Yeah, I really don’t know where she went. But that’s her business.” Gideon shrugged. Harrowhark never told her anything, it wasn’t exactly a surprise. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>Dulcinea bobbed her head, causing her dusky ringlets to bounce a little. She probed further, “Mmm, and have you figured out why we are all here yet? Or how long we are staying? That awful dinner last night really made me miss home.” </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>The  tone of her voice betrayed she might know more than she was letting on. It was almost teacherly, like she was asking a rhetorical question. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>She interrupted Gideon’s thoughts and added on, saying, “I think we might actually be here a long time. You might want to consider settling in.”</i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>The farmhand considered her words. “I hope not too much longer. I’m almost done with the tasks, and then hopefully I can get on with my life.”</i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“And what’s that? Back to the famous Drearburh? Have someone special back home?”</i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>Gideon guffawed at that, retorting, “Definitely. Like... whatever the opposite of that is.” Dulcinea’s curious look begged for more, so she indulged her. “Honestly, I want to be a knight. I want to help people and go wherever I feel like.”</i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“That sounds very brave. You’re so strong, I’m sure you’d make an excellent knight. Someone like me, I’m more of a fright.” She coughed again, a bit raspier this time. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>From the ranch a little away, the farmhand noticed the Sixth Kingdom’s necromancer staring at them with a fervid intensity. When their eyes met, he looked away and turned back to the animals he was chasing around. Gideon felt unwelcome once more and bid Dulcinea farewell. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>—</i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>Later that day, Gideon <i>did</i> find and oak tree. She felled it, sawed it into rounds, and removed the stump. For good measure, she also cleared out a larger patch of weeds. By her estimation, she’d cleared about 5% of the farmland available. The day was winding down and she needed a meal - preferably the bigger the better. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>Harrow was still AWOL. Despite Gideon’s relief to be away from her least favorite person in the world, the little farmhouse was lonesome. Ortus hadn’t showed back up, though he had nibbled on the jerky and drank all the milk. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>Being some kind of awful filthy, Gideon decided to wash up before dinner. This had <i>nothing</i> to do with Coronabeth potentially being there. Gideon stripped and waded into the lake, and scrubbed as much as she could. Feeling fresh, she pulled on some cleaner clothes and headed into town. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>Most of the competitors were already seated and chatting. A new point board had been tacked onto the wall of one of the buildings. The Mayor eagerly explained how it worked to anyone who would listen. It displayed each Kingdom’s cumulative points - spent ones were not considered lost. Gideon’s heart plummeted. The Ninth Kingdom was in seventh place, only in front of the Seventh Kingdom, who had a measly 5. Leading was the Third - they had already accumulated 145 points. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>Gideon felt cheated. It wasn’t fair that the Third had three useful people but the Ninth had only one. And just where <i>was</i> Harrowhark?</i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>It didn’t really matter, she supposed. The terms the farmhand had agreed to didn’t include winning. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>Before she’d finished absentmindedly piling her plate to maximum capacity, one of the women from the Second approached. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“Hey, Gideon, right? We are hosting a grand reopening of the tavern soon. You and your necromancer are invited. It should be excellent fun.” Her teeth flashed a brilliant smile and she pushed a small paper invitation into her hands. “I’m Marta, but most people call me Dyas.”</i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“Thanks, that sounds fun. Trying to beat the Third?” Gideon could recognize a competitive person when she saw one. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>Dyas grimaced a little. “Yeah, we are really rushing it. Food and drink should be good though. If you have any produce ready by the date - it’s three weeks from now - we’d be happy to buy it.” </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“Sure, I’ll let you know. Have anything you can do with parsnips? That’s all I could afford to buy seeds with.” </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>Dyas seemed to mull that over. She said, “Well, I’ll ask Deuteros if we can loan you some points to expand a bit. We can drop the seeds off by you place in exchange for a percentage of the crops, or something. Deal?” </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>Gideon found this agreeable. Something from her earlier conversation with Dulcinea was swirling in her mind. Before they parted, she asked, “Dyas, how long do you think we will be here?” </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>Marta met her eyes and narrowed them. She replied carefully, “I’d say at least a year. What have you heard?” </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>The farmhand nearly dropped her plate. “A <i>year</i>?!” It was loud enough that several others turned to look at the source of the noise. The world closed in around her, tightening its already-too-firm grip. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>Gideon muttered an apology and stalked off back to the house. Her home for the next year, apparently. She heard someone ask if she was okay, but it didn’t register enough for her to respond. An entire year of her life, wasted. Sure, some of these people weren’t all bad. But, the thought of another set of seasons trapped with Harrowhark breathing down her neck was gut-wrenching . Gideon could practically feel the bone-shackles wrapping around her, tying her to fieldwork for the rest of her life. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>She had to escape, and soon. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>Gideon reached the door to her hut and stumbled into the chair at the tiny table. She was breathing hard, nearly hyperventilating. The farmhand had reserved the wherewithal to take her dinner plate with her, and she stared into it. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>She felt something brush against her leg and flinched. It was the cat. He looked up at her and stood on its hind legs to climb into her lap. As Gideon processed her new situation, she stroked the tabby and began to plot how she could get out of this place. Stardew Valley had a creepy way of starting to feel like home. She couldn’t let it stay that way. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>—</i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>Days passed, and Gideon fell into an easy pattern. Harrowhark leaves, Gideon wakes, feeds the cat, and then tends to any crops. Harrow would crawl back sometime around 2am, usually leaving blood everywhere, making a mess, and nibbling whatever food Gideon left for her. It was like living with two feral cats instead of just one. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>Dyas, true to her word, dropped off more seeds. They agreed that a 1-2 split would be fair. In return for farming, Gideon could keep one third of the plants for herself. The farmhand now spent all day in the field, planting potatoes, strawberries, garlic, beans, and kale. Everything grew supernaturally fast, but it was hard work keeping everything watered and weeded. At the end of each day, she was so exhausted all she could do is collapse into bed. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>Gideon kept reminding herself that she just needed to keep it up until she was done preparing to leave. She couldn’t let anyone figure out her plans until she had everything. The final part required a bit of trickery, but she figured it would be worth it. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>
      <i>I’m going to steal a horse.</i>
    </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>—</i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>Gideon had to admit - the blacksmith shop was remarkably well repaired. The floors were polished heat-resistant tile, shining like new. The furnace and casting station were fully functional and the Third Kingdom representatives filled the shop with new tools for sale. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>When Gideon walked in, Coronabeth was pouring molten iron into a mould meant for creating a new weapon. She was fierce with concentration. Her golden hair was pulled back for safety, and a sturdy apron concealed her glorious rack. Sweat dripped down her forehead to her chin. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>The metal cooled and Coronabeth looked up and finally noticed Gideon standing there. She smiled and set down her tools. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“Hey there, dance partner. You want to practice later? I can wash up and be ready in an hour!”</i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>Gideon felt a twinge of guilt, but knew she had no choice. She responded, “Actually, this might sound silly, but can you teach me to ride a horse? We don’t have any real ones in the Ninth, and it’s something I’ve always wanted to try.”</i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>Coronabeth’s smile only grew. She eagerly accepted, saying, “Totally! I bet you’ll be a natural. Let’s go grab them - they’re over at the ranch.” The two abandoned the partially complete, hardening sword in favor of a gay horse adventure. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>As they walked down the path to the ranch, Coronabeth bumped into Gideon. The first time, she’d thought it was an accident. The second, perhaps a coincidence. But on the third nudge, the farmhand caught a mischievous look on the princess’s fair visage. Coronabeth’s slim hand slipped into Gideon’s callused brown one. She threaded their fingers together and brushed her thumb over Gideon’s knuckles. The farmhand’s heart spun in her chest at the unfamiliar intimacy. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>The woman from the Ninth was surprised to feel how strong and rough Coronabeth’s hand felt. For someone who was a princess and a necromancer, she possessed remarkable strength and evidence of manual labor. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>They walked in amicable silence. The warm feeling of a beautiful woman’s hand had turned Gideon’s brain to porridge and heart into a dizzy mess. She didn’t trust herself to speak coherently. The princess seemed completely at ease while appreciating the quietness. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>When they reached the makeshift stables, Coronabeth raised Gideon’s hand and kissed the back of it chastely. She then released it, to Gideon’s great relief and disappointment. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>The door swung open to reveal the golden (<i>Palomino</i>, Coronabeth would later insist) horses of the Third Kingdom. The princess carefully showed Gideon how to equip them with their bridles and saddles, and how to make sure it all fit correctly. There were so many steps, Gideon was certain she’d forget most of it. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>Gideon learned that the princess’s horse was named <i>Fibula</i> and Naberius’s was <i>Ulna</i>. Apparently Ianthe’s got the name <i>Humerus</i>, but the lady horse (<i>Mare</i>, Coronabeth explained) was a massive bitch and definitely had no sense of humor. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>They led the steeds out of the stable and into the fields outside of the town. Coronabeth gave Gideon a push onto Ulna, and then, in a show of strength and grace, nimbly swung herself onto Fibula from the ground. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>Coronabeth looked like a painting of a war hero. Her posture was perfect and the horse moved exactly as she requested. They were a blur of golden hair and majesty. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“Now remember, look where you want to go, and that’s <i>not</i> the ground. Squeeze your legs for more speed, and gently pull back on the reins for less.”</i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>Ulna was a calm and gentle mount. When Gideon urged her forward with a cluck and squeeze, the horse tentatively began to move faster. Every so often, Ulna would stop and bend down to eat grass instead of move. The farmhand pulled and yanked in futility while the horse ate her fill. Occasionally, her teacher would shout an instruction, such as, “Keep your heels down!” or “Turn your hands upright.” It seemed meaningless to Gideon, but she complied anyways. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>Coronabeth and Fibula floated above the land like a dream. They easily leapt over an overturned log, doubled back, and jumped it again. For at least an hour, Gideon poked and prodded at a meager success on horseback while entranced at Coronabeth’s skill. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>The sun began to set and the pair returned the horses to their home. The princess turned to her student and asked, “So, what did you think?” </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>Gideon responded with self deprecation, “Well, I know <i>you</i> are good at riding. I feel like I made an ass out of myself. Also, I think I’m going to be sore forever, in the weirdest muscles I’ll never use again.” She puffed some air out of her nose in a light laugh. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>Coronabeth tousled Gideon’s shock of short red hair and traced the shell of her ear. “You’d be surprised, your adductors come in handy for a few other exercises.” The princess’s touch was flirtatious but noncommittal. The farmhand blushed at the implication and was reminded of some of the more crude magazines she’d hidden away back in Drearburh. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>Gideon walked her riding instructor back to the blacksmith shop, where she was living. Coronabeth grabbed the doorknob and turned, saying, “I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon for the dance, right? Meet you there?” Even though she barely knew the princess, a bit of guilt twisted in her gut. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>Despite this, Gideon lied, “Of course. Meet you there. Don’t forget to bring flowers, or whatever!” The two laughed and said their goodbyes. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>When she returned home, Gideon packed her final necessities. While everyone else went to the dance, she would get out of here, and away from the Ninth Kingdom and its evil liege forever.</i>
  </i>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Harrow actually helps with the farm for once. The flower dance doesn’t go as expected.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Gideon’s golden eyes flickered open. Daylight streamed in from the broken window. Sleepily, she reached for Ortus, who had developed a habit of sleeping as close to her face as possible. He let out a little happy meow and scampered away. </p><p>The recently-awoken woman nearly fell out of the bed when she saw Harrowhark still in the farmhouse. Her necromancer was scary enough already, but the face full of intense black and white paint was enough to give most people a conniption. </p><p>Harrow stared at her disdainfully and asked, “Welcome to the waking world. How do you sleep so much?”</p><p>Gideon took a measured exhale. She responded, “I guess it’s because I actually do stuff around here. Have you seen all the plants <i>we</i> are growing?” The farmhand aggressively drew finger quotes around the word <i>we</i>. </p><p>“Yes, it’s quite a lot. You should really consider setting up some kind of irrigation system.” </p><p>Annoyance settled in further. “I know that! I just haven’t had time yet.” Gideon was now sitting fully upright on the bed. </p><p>Harrowhark was fretting at her mostly-bald head now, shaving any unruly bits using a small mirror and a razor. “Sure, sure. Well you’d better get out there if you want to finish up in time for the dance. I could help a bit today if you’d like. Most everyone will be too distracted to make progress today.”</p><p>Panic burrowed into Gideon’s chest. </p><p><i>Okay, keep it together. Harrow knows about the dance, and is apparently going to the dance, which means I can’t avoid going. I can still find a time to slip away during the party if I’m careful. No worries, no worries. </i> </p><p>Harrowhark’s regal tenor broke her thoughts, insisting, “Really, Griddle, I can help out today. I’m not so brittle that I can’t wander around outside for a few hours, doing whatever it is you do.” </p><p>Gideon stood and stretched, pulling her forearms behind her head and leaning side to side. It was an impressive display, though that wasn’t the intention. An imperceptible emotion blipped across Harrow’s face while she gawked at her guard. </p><p>The farmhand’s warm voice asked, “Well, ready for the first day of actual work in your life, my liege?”</p><p>—</p><p>The pair of black-clad women made their way out to the farm. Gideon found herself watering more slowly than usual, simply because watching Harrowhark do everything so improperly was hilarious.  </p><p>Harrow’s tiny bird-hands plucked at the tops of the burgeoning weeds instead of pulling them out by the roots. When she watered, she poured the liquid all over the leaves. The neat-freak necromancer kept wiping her dirty hands on her robe, leaving long streaks of muck all over. </p><p>Just as Gideon was making her way over to the beans, she saw a crow fly over the field. Its pesky eyes scanned the field for a snack. The farmhand stood to chase it off, yelling, “Go on, scram.” </p><p>The pest was undeterred by human words, apparently. It dove for one of the precious strawberry plants. Out of nowhere, Harrowhark tore after the bird, waving her arms and screeching at it. It cawed angrily and reversed course, beating its wings to bother some other produce. </p><p>“Hey, you do make a good scarecrow after all! I always knew you had the right form for it.” </p><p>Irritated but not angry, Harrow responded, “Oh shut up, Griddle! At least I don’t look an ogre with a bad sunburn!” She added on, “An ogre with a bad sunburn and terrible clothing choices!” </p><p>Gideon grinned at the jab. Harrow’s words lacked their typical venom. </p><p>—</p><p>After a few hours, Gideon’s stomach grumbled angrily. She watered her last crop and stepped inside for a quick lunch with Harrow. For the first time since they’d left Drearburh, Harrow <i>ate</i>. The Ninth devoured the provided meal of preserved meat, hard bread, and cups of rehydrated milk with great ferocity. </p><p>The necromancer left a smear of gray paint smudges on the lip of her cup. Gideon cleared her throat and felt she needed to get something off her chest before they headed to the festival. </p><p>“Uh, Harrow, just so you know, I’m actually going to the dance with Coronabeth. I’m sorry you won’t have a partner.” The farmhand braced for shouting. </p><p>Instead, the necromancer smirked and clarified, “Don’t be silly. I will be attending with Princess Ianthe. She and I have had a few run-ins so far. She actually asked me the first day - well, night, I suppose.” Gideon’s pulse quickened. </p><p>The necromancer’s thin eyebrows pressed down questioningly. </p><p>“Gideon, you didn’t think I would forget to compete? I even set you and Coronabeth up. I couldn’t have you asking Septimus.” Harrow’s intonation approached rude but stopped more closely to surprise. </p><p>Gideon clenched her fists under the table. Showing hurt was instant defeat in a game of bitchery. Her voice mimed Harrow’s nasty tone, responding, “Yeah, I knew that.” The tenor shifted to promiscuous, and continued, “I’m just curious how you managed to get a date in the first place. Are you...” She gestured inappropriately with her fingers and made a knowing expression. </p><p>Harrowhark pushed back from the table with an “ugh” and began to reapply her face paint. Without turning around, she ordered, “And you’ll wear the paint, too. Come here.”</p><p>Gideon complied before she could think to  rebel. Her mind swirled with hurt and any remaining capacity was reserved for hiding her shame. The necromancer pushed her to sit on the bed. She wiped her guard’s face with a towel and began to apply the thick grease. </p><p>The stick of black and white decoration felt cool and slick on Gideon’s face. She scrunched her eyes shut while the acrid scent of the application filled her nostrils. </p><p>The farmhand’s mind drifted to the stack of feelings she’d been pushing down all day. Unbelievably, it had actually been kind of fun hanging out with Harrow during the day. If the Reverend Daughter was good for anything, it was knowing how to ruin anything good. Did Coronabeth really only ask her because she was told to? </p><p>All of this cemented her need to escape. The sooner, the better. </p><p>Harrow shifted slightly for a better angle and the insides of her knees touched Gideon’s thighs. After a few moments of contact, she stepped back to admire her work. Her bare finger traced the edge of Gideon’s tense jaw, fixing a smudge. Gideon’s defeated eyes met the necromancer’s black, soulless ones. The corner of Harrowhark’s mouth quirked up, satisfied with her work. </p><p>“Okay, lets go. We don’t want to be late. Take this with you, too.” Harrow pressed an old sword from the Ninth into her hands. Gideon grasped the sword and tucked it into her belt. The two left the small farmhouse with heads full of opposing thoughts.  </p><p>—</p><p>The Ninth Kingdom approached the party without speaking. Harrowhark practically vibrated with nervous tension. They stepped into the lush grove where the dance was taking place. </p><p>The Mayor scrambled around unnaturally fast, adjusting things here or there. He had outdone himself - it was actually gorgeous. Roses, lilies, azaleas, tulips, basically every flower imaginable was hung from delicate strings. A long table with sandwiches and a punch bowl was off to the side. The dance floor was just soft grass, but it was cropped down to an easy walking height. </p><p>As Gideon took it all in, the trio from the Third approached. They wore matching violet dresses, with Naberius in a sharp suit. Ianthe led the group, while Coronabeth and her guard bickered behind her about something inane. </p><p>Ianthe ignored Gideon completely. Her straight blonde hair was partially pulled into an updo, with sparkling white jewels seeded throughout. She took Harrowhark by the hand and declared, “Well, aren’t you looking positively sinister?!” </p><p>The Reverend Daughter was unamused by this and wrenched her hand away from her apparent date. </p><p><i>I guess there’s trouble in paradise,</i> thought Gideon, but she was sharp enough to not say that. </p><p>Ianthe whispered loud enough for almost anyone to hear, complaining, “Can you believe how cheap the decor is? I couldn’t imagine that the Emperor is running low on funding.” </p><p>Harrowhark crunched her eyebrows in indignation and demanded, “You will not blaspheme the Emperor in front of me!”</p><p>Ianthe retorted, “Just making conversation, <i>Harry</i>.” Coronabeth slung her arm around her sister and agreed loudly, “Yes, can you believe how cheap the decor is?” Anyone who hadn’t heard Ianthe certainly heard Coronabeth. The Mayor pretended to not notice. </p><p>Her sister rolled her eyes. “Corona, dear, just how much punch have you had already? We only got here half an hour ago.” </p><p>“I’m fine, pshh. I am <i>very</i> good at drinking.” She steadied herself by broadening her stance and traipsed over to Gideon. </p><p>The princess stumbled her last step and Gideon caught her by the arm. Although they’d spent all of yesterday together, the farmhand still lacked immunity to Coronabeth’s chronic condition of <i>being an absolute babe</i>. A waft of perfume and cheap booze struck her in the face. Gideon dizzied. </p><p>Ianthe finally looked at the farmhand, narrowed her eyes, and warned gravely, “Ninth, if any harm befalls my sister, I will kill you over and over, in ways you’ve never even imagined.” Gideon nodded and glanced at Harrow, who was sullenly picking lint off of her robes and seemed to either not hear or not care. Coronabeth was completely unalarmed by the threat and responded with a giggle and an, “Oh, Ianthe, don’t be silly!”</p><p>Mercifully, Ianthe and Harrowhark moved to a pair of chairs in the corner to discuss something very serious. Naberius looked torn about who to follow, and settled on the more vivacious princess. Killjoys gone, Gideon went to join the more amicable people of Stardew Valley. Coronabeth threaded their fingers together and stayed close, warm and soft. </p><p>The crew clearly knew how to clean up. Exotic fashions from every kingdom decorated the guests. The myriad of colors sharply contrasted with the grim affair of a Ninth Kingdom Party. </p><p>Magnus was standing in front of everyone telling jokes. “What was the Ninth Necromancer’s favorite instrument?” Abigail grimaced, she had definitely heard this one. </p><p>“A trom-bone!” The group either laughed or groaned, but stiffened when they saw Gideon approach. </p><p>Magnus cleared his throat and clarified, “No offense meant, of course!” People who had previously been friendly gazed with cautious fear now that Gideon was in full paint. </p><p>Gideon reassured them by adding, “Oh, I have a whole list of Ninth jokes, have you heard the one about the nun and the bathtub?” </p><p>Coronabeth interrupted her to begin telling a story about some countess in the Third Kingdom, sharing entirely too many details about the woman’s personal life. Most guests were enraptured, while the Eighth slipped away surreptitiously. </p><p>The teens sheepishly sidled up to Gideon, clearly bored with the court gossip. The young woman, Jeannemary, wore a magnificent peach suit and tie, and looked Gideon up and down. A light blush crossed her cheeks, and Isaac asked, “Ninth, if you don’t mind, we made a bet on the size of your biceps. May I?” </p><p>Gideon chuckled and rolled up her sleeve, while he fished out a string with stripes on it. The farmhand knelt and flexed while he circled it around her bicep. She quirked an eyebrow and watched Jeannemary while the teen anxiously shuffled her feet. Isaac declared, “Hah, I guess you win, Jeannemary!” She pulled her fist and let out a, “Yess!” </p><p>The Mayor cut her off, and called everyone to attention with silverware clinking on his crystal glass. He cleared his throat and began to read a script, “In antiquity, the Emperor and his dearest friends would dance to celebrate the change of seasons. If everyone could please take their partners, and line up so there are two rows facing each other, six steps apart, that would be appreciated.”</p><p>People shuffled into place, some with excitement, others with dread. Strangely enough, Dulcinea and Palamedes had chosen to be partners. He looked extremely nervous, with a bead of sweat on his brow. He stammered some words to her before splitting up. She giggled. </p><p>Camilla and Dyas made warlike faces at each other from across the gap. They were both dressed exceptionally elegantly, with Camilla in a thin flowing dress and the Second in a handsome suit. </p><p>The Eighth - either by choice or lack of option - had paired up to easily be the least appealing couple. Deuteros and Naberius were the last set of partners, with Protestilaus of the Seventh left out. Harrow had bitten her lip until it bled while staring at Ianthe. </p><p>The Mayor joyously called out, “And approach your partners, taking a left step forward.” When he said this, the earth beneath them rumbled. While most people ignored it, Harrow, to Ianthe’s great displeasure, began to arm herself and reached into her pockets. </p><p>He continued to instruct, requesting everyone raise their arms, and slowly lower them. </p><p>“And a right step, please!” </p><p>“And again, and move your hips, everyone!” He could not be more obnoxious if he tried. </p><p>Gideon gazed at Coronabeth, who managed to make each movement with incredible grace in spite of how completely hammered she was. </p><p>People stepped once more, and this time the tremor became more pronounced. The Mayor instructed everyone to take their partners hands. </p><p>Coronabeth was <i>close</i>, and she smiled sweetly. The princess leaned in like she might kiss her, and the world faded away. Jarringly, Harrow’s words from earlier interrupted. Coronabeth was only doing this because Harrow arranged this. Why was she being so forward? Another thud shook the earth. </p><p>One of the teens screamed and Gideon swung her head to see the source. </p><p>A hulking construct skittered through the woods, crashing into the punch table. The mess of bone and ligament stood at least three times Gideon’s height. Several felled trees laid slain in its path. It was nothing like a human. Eight massive femurs with pointed, sharp tips formed horrifying legs. The bone-spider moved with impossible grace and agility for its size. </p><p>A lot of things happened at once. Dulcinea collapsed to the ground, Magnus commanded the teens to run, and every necromancer began to do spooky shit. The flower petals were quickly doused with blood, dust, and bits of guts. Palamedes rushed for Dulcinea and began to book it out of there with her in tow. </p><p>Harrow yelled at her date, “See, it <i>was</i> suspicious the party was outside the peaceful zone!” Of course she concerned herself more with being right than the monster in front of them. Guards unsheathed swords and other weapons with far more practice and grace than the farmhand could. </p><p>
  <i>Really, everyone was armed? Where had Camilla stored two swords while wearing such a skimpy dress??</i>
</p><p>Unphased, Harrowhark Nonagesimus threw down her pocket bones and created ten robust human skeletons spun to re-life, armed with vicious clubs for hands. Gideon took a note from her and the others and readied her blade. </p><p>The creature bellowed and stabbed at Coronabeth, who was still clinging onto Gideon. The farmhand jumped at the spear and tried to parry it, shearing bone bits off of it, while shoving Coronabeth out of the way. Before she could understand it, she heard Harrow yell, “Nav, behind!” </p><p>Fast on her feet, Gideon broke the contact and rolled to the side. A piercing pain erupted in her hip as it skewered her sideways. It held her pinned to the ground while her vision blurred with pain. The beast didn’t pierce entirely through, it got caught on her ilium. It hurt like a bitch. </p><p>She heard more yelling, some of it her own. The sword-arm that stabbed her shattered into dust as one of Harrow’s constructs slammed its hefty limb into the skewer. Another bone-boy ran up and grabbed Gideon under the arms to drag her to safety. A trail of blood smeared into the soft grass as it hauled her. </p><p>By the time the farmhand could perceive her surroundings again, the spider-construct looked worse for wear. Two of its eight legs were ripped off, messily. Only the Ninth, Fifth, and Third remained to fight. Harrowhark’s black and white paint smeared red with a bloodsweat and a rivulet was running out of her right ear. Ianthe and Coronabeth worked in tandem to disable the necromancy holding it together, and Abigail glowed green while frost covered the creature. </p><p>Any guards left stood by their lieges, taking a defensive stance. The beast ambled towards the lone Harrowhark, spearing her constructs into piles of bone shards. Harrow stood her ground, fearsomely flinging knuckles to the ground and creating a wall. Gideon rose to her feet, her right leg wobbly in agony. When she saw the beast raise its arm, she ran. </p><p>The beast swung a spear through the wall, destroying it with ease. Another construct erupted from the necromancer’s hands, but not fast enough. The beast speared her in the thigh, and when she doubled over, struck Harrow and flung her like she weighed nothing. She soared through the air and landing with a stomach-turning crunch. </p><p>Looking like a dead raven crossed with a pile of leftover black textiles, Harrowhark crumpled to the ground. Gideon ran to her side, knelt, and lifted her hood. </p><p>Harrow’s face was badly bloodied. Her black eye bordered on being a skull fracture. Her nose was weeping blood, and her lips and cheeks were stained with the stuff. The necromancer’s eyes flickered open and drifted off to the side, then shut again. </p><p>Her cracked lips parted to speak, barely uttering, “Go away Gideon. I’m fine.” </p><p>Gideon rolled her eyes. “Yeah, you look <i>fantastic</i>.” Her brawny arms scooped under Harrow’s legs and around her back. The necromancer moaned in pain. She was so light.</p><p>The beast was preoccupied with the remaining fighters, and Gideon limped away to the farmhouse. She didn’t know where necromancy would cease, but she hoped it would be soon. </p><p>The pair reached their house after ten minutes of pitiful stumbling. The farmhand carefully deposited her necromancer into her scarcely-used bed closer to the window. Harrow curled into the fetal position and pulled a blanket up to her chin. At least she could move. The guard’s heart twisted as she perceived a febrile shiver. </p><p>Gideon stared at her for a minute and tried to figure out what to do. She could call for help, but the monstrous construct could be out there. Everyone else has their own problems. Her golden eyes scanned the room for anything that could help. All the medical supplies were in her rucksack, stashed for her missed departure. </p><p>Hands trembling, Gideon pulled the robes off of her lifelong enemy. Harrow wore a simple bandeau and shorts under her layers of black. The necromancer had lost all of her fighting spirit and offered no resistance. Gideon assessed the injuries. The worst of the wounds was her thigh, and she hoped the rest were superficial. </p><p>Blood flowed from the deep gash freely. Anyone who wasn’t necromantically-inclined might have died from an arterial wound, but she must have sealed it partially with flesh magic. The farmhand dabbed a cloth in a bit of alcohol and cleaned the wound. When she made contact, Harrow hissed at her. Gideon wrapped the wound with gauze and tied it off tightly. </p><p>The farmhand replaced the robes and blankets, but Harrow still shivered pitifully, teeth chattering. Gideon felt weakened and cold from her own blood loss. She was in no shape to escape today. In a sleepy, animal-brain moment, Gideon climbed into Harrow’s bed and wrapped her arms around the smaller woman. The shared warmth was enough to coax them both into rest.</p>
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